I've decided to write a few short stories over the three deaths that Alucard suffered in his unnatural life. Why? Because I've always loved thinking about this. So this is just the first chapter of about three to four chapters' worth of a short story. Enjoy!

I will not die here.

The king stepped forth slowly, pain shooting up through his bare heels as he dug them with a quiet crunch through the battle-scorched dirt. The body of his general lay in his path, and not having the strength to step over the body, he tumbled to the ground, the dirt scraping his bleeding chest. "Hareket!" screamed the soldier ahead of him, yanking on a rusted chain that jerked him forward with a loud clack. The wood around his head dragged him forward, leaving a red ring around his wrists and neck as his body was forcibly dragged across the ground. With empty eyes, the king kneeled and rose to his feet and did not meet the soldier in the eyes as he was dragged forward once again.

I refuse.

But this is your time, my king. It's time you received your punishment. It's time we met face to face.

No.

No? Look before you.

Hollow blue eyes spared a glance towards a clearing within the battlefield. A large, overweight man stood there with a cloak covering his head, masking the expression of his eyes. He found it funny that his executioner would be Death himself.

You've lost. It's time to give in. There's no saving your fate now, my dear crusader.

Knees hit dirt again, though this time it was obvious that he was not supposed to stand up after that. The blade of the knife raised by the meaty hand of Death glinted in the rising sun.

Time to give in?

Liquid fire began seeping into the king's eyes as he gazed out over the battlefield. Ire rose within his chest as his gut clenched upon the sight of his dismembered men. A boot hit his back and planted there as he lay sprawled on the ground. The knife rose above Death's head and his limbs trembled in anticipation. With the last strength he could muster, the king crawled three inches forward and extended his neck, a gasp rising from his throat as he leaned in towards the blood of one of his men. The warm, sticky liquid coated his gullet with warmth and momentarily appeased his insatiable thirst.

This is only the beginning. I have made my choice.

Dark laughter echoed only in his ears. Good. I knew you wouldn't disappoint.

The blade swung down and severed his head in one clean chop, and the king's head rolled away from Death's boots.

But he was far from dead. Oh no, he was still so very thirsty.

The silver cross strung about the headless body had shattered, but not by the means of the blade that had swung down upon his neck. A cheer rang about the gathered crowd as all whooped in victory.

"Kral öldü! Kral öldü!" the men of the battlefield bleated. The executioner grabbed the king's hair roughly and held it high above his head, exposing the mask of the murderer for the world to see. As everyone's attention was fixated on the head, no one paid any mind to the body. That was until a low growling interrupted their jubilation.

Dead silence entered the open field as the body of the headless stricken king rose above the ashes. Clouds accumulated over their heads and the sunlight was suddenly blocked by a veil of darkness. The temperature seemed to drop, and chills wracked the seasoned warriors' spines. The headless corpse, which had previously been still as a statue, suddenly seemed to bubble under the skin. The blood that leaked from the gaping hole suddenly turned black as night, and all watched in terror as a new head began to form upon the lifeless husk's figure.

The king looked different from the last time the crowd saw him. Gone were the sober blue eyes, which had been replaced with two twin droplets of poisonous blood. The crimson irises bored into the soldiers with a rage like no other. The mouth, which had previously been clamped into a firm line of resignation, had spread into a grin; a wide and terrible grin that nearly stretched to his cheekbones, exposing fangs of monstrous proportion.

"Kral öldü," he agreed.

-Hareket: move

-Kral öldü: The king is dead